Tree

It seems now

that I have never believed

in the unyielding nature

of physical objects. How strange

that you could stretch out

on the floor, for example,

and not fall through,

or lean against a wall

for hours, going nowhere.

How easily the mind tips sideways

and plunges into

what's hidden back there--

the colonies of military mice

the secret crawlspaces.

I imagine the centers of trees

as hollow luminous chambers

within which dust motes swirl

glinting in moonlight.

How, then, could one so suddenly

have stopped his car?

Some things the mind simply refuses.

But perhaps he did break through

to unite with

the sparkling dust,

the circling breeze

lifting him up, up.

"Tree" appeared in Cairn, no. 42 (2007).